


layer cakes

by littlemissmeggie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And Lots of Cake, Cuddling, Gen, Great British Bake Off AU, M/M, Too much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissmeggie/pseuds/littlemissmeggie
Summary: Harry's a nanny. Zayn's a secondary school art teacher. Niall works in a music shop. All three are finalists onThe Great British Bake Off.





	layer cakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dinosaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaur/gifts).



> Written for @wepush on tumblr for the Autumn '17 Zarriall Week Exchange, the prompt was _GBBO AU_. I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope I've captured some of the show's charm as well as some of each of the boy's!

Harry walked through the front door of the Queen Ann house, a little wistful because, whether he won or came in as a runner-up, this was the last weekend he would spend at Welford Park.

He knew he was a good baker, had always known he had a knack for it, but he’d never really thought he would end up in the finals; he’d hoped, _dreamt_ , he would but hadn’t dared to imagine he would actually be there.

Especially after he’d met the other contestants. They were all such talented bakers and he’d been impressed by their bakes every week.

Nobody had impressed him as much as Niall and Zayn, though, and he was absolutely shocked and delighted to find himself in the last week of _The Great British Bake Off_ with them.

Harry pushed open the door of the meeting room where they met with Paul, Mary, and a few members of the production crew the evening before the weekend’s filming began. It felt strange every week, to find one less person in the room, but none more than this week.

His eyes landed on Niall and Zayn where they sat at the long table, cups of tea in front of them as they talked.

“Hi, Zayn,” said Harry as he walked toward the two lads, a small smile on his lips. “Hi, Niall!” He blushed when the Irish boy looked at him, a brilliant smile on his freckled face.

“Hey, Haz!” said the brunette. “You cut your hair!”

“Oh,” said Harry, reaching up to comb his ringed fingers through his short hair, “yeah.”

“Looks nice,” Niall told him, sunshine smile still on his lips. “Proper handsome, y’are.”

“Th-thanks, Niall,” stuttered Harry. He blushed deeper still and looked down to his feet. “Just going to, um, I’ll just make some tea,” he mumbled, walking toward the sideboard where an electric kettle and cups and a variety of teas and sweeteners and creamers sat.

“Aww, you made him all blushy,” said Zayn to Niall, the hint of a smirk quirking his lips. It was amazing, he thought, that Niall was still oblivious to Harry’s crush. Nobody else was; even the cameramen and boom operators knew and Zayn was sure that when the episodes finally aired, the show’s viewers would be able to tell too.

“Didn’t mean to.” Niall shrugged. “Just telling him his haircut looks good.”

Harry joined them with a cup of tea, cheeks a bit less pink but still avoiding Niall’s fond gaze.

“Have you got your bakes all planned then?” Zayn asked Harry kindly.

“Oh, yes,” said Harry, finally looking up from his tea. “Been practicing all week. I think my time should be fine. I had to bake while Olivia was taking her naps and after I put her to bed and everything.”

“Couldn’t her parents have, um, _parented_ a bit more? To give you time to practice?” asked Niall delicately, trying to keep his disdain for Harry’s employers out of his tone.

“Well, Tom was away all week. On business, you know,” said Harry. “And Elise was busy with work too.”

“Mmm,” hummed Niall, biting his tongue.

“You look exhausted, Haz,” Zayn told him, sounding a little concerned.

“Thanks, Zayn,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Zayn reached out and placed his hand on top of Harry’s where it rested on the table. “Just try to get a good night’s sleep tonight.” He smiled gently.

The door opened and Paul, Mary, the series director, and the lead cameraman entered the room. The three boys stood from their seats to greet them.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Mary, giving the three boys a smile and slight bow of her head.

“Lads, good to see you,” added Paul, reaching out to shake each of their hands.

“Why, Harry,” said Mary, “you’ve cut your hair!”

“Oh, um, yes,” he agreed. “I had a little accident while practicing- while practicing my sugar work.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” asked Mary, eyes wide and concern lacing her words.

“No, no,” Harry assured her. “Just it all- The ends got clumped together and- and I couldn’t get it out.”

Beside him, Niall tried to stifle his giggle and Zayn bit his bottom lip hard.

“Well, it looks quite nice,” Mary told him. “Very handsome.”

“Right,” said Paul briskly. “We wanted to review your challenges for the weekend and go over the filming schedule before we send you off to your cottages for the night.”

After a short briefing about the events of the weekend, Paul, Mary, Andy, and Josh wished the three lads a good evening.

“Do try and get some rest, Harry,” said Mary as she gave the tall boy a hug. “I don’t think it’s quite fair how much the Harney’s depend on you.”

“To the cottages then?” asked Zayn once the other four had left the room. “We’ll make you some tea, Harry. Get you all nice and tucked into your bed.”

“I think I’d better go over my notes,” Harry told his friends. “I’ve got to make sure—”

“No, Harry,” said Niall firmly, cutting Harry off. “You’ve got to get some rest or you’ll be dead on your feet in the tent.”

Zayn stopped Harry’s further protests before they could even start. “Niall’s right, Harry. You need to sleep.” He reached up to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Suppose it’d be proper difficult to get your hair dipped in sugar again but we don’t want to take any chances. We’ll make you some tea—”

“Give you a cuddle,” added Niall, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him to his side.

Harry blushed again, a deep red, and said quietly, “That- that sounds nice.”

“You’ll thank us in the morning,” Zayn told him.

Twenty minutes later, the three lads arrived at the cottage they were sharing—a quaint little country house with three bedrooms and a bathroom, a small kitchen with a breakfast nook, and a living room with a comfortable sofa and armchairs and a big fireplace—and Zayn headed to the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

Niall led Harry up the stairs to the small bedrooms, hand gripping Harry’s long fingers tightly. He stopped just outside Harry’s door and dropped his hand. “Now put on your joggers while I get changed and then I’ll come back and we can have a cuddle.” He smiled and turned toward the door of his own room.

Harry did as instructed, changing into a pair of joggers and an old tee shirt before climbing onto his bed and lying down.

A knock came at his door a moment later. “Come in, Ni,” he said. Niall walked in and moved to sit down at the foot of the bed. He was followed closely by Zayn.

“Chamomile and lavender,” said Zayn kindly, handing Harry a steaming mug of tea. “Should help you relax.”

“Thanks, Zayn,” said Harry, reaching out for the tea and giving the raven-haired lad a shy smile.

Zayn sat on the bed as well. “You’re welcome, Harry.”

“Drink up, yeah, so we can get to cuddling!” exclaimed Niall.

“Bossy,” murmured Harry, taking a sip of his tea and blushing faintly.

While Harry drank his tea, Niall and Zayn talked about the past week, mindful to leave out mention of the research they’d done— _what_ surprise did Paul and Mary have for their technical challenge?—and the practice rounds of their signature and showstopper bakes.

“Okay,” said Niall once Harry had finished his tea and set his empty mug on the nightstand, “big spoon or little spoon?”

Harry blushed. “Um,” he hesitated for a moment. He liked to be the little spoon, though the last time he’d told someone that, they’d laughed and informed him he was too tall to be the little spoon.

He didn’t think Niall would laugh at him, though.

“Um,” he started again, “little spoon.”

“Big spoon!” said Niall happily, gesturing toward himself. “We fit!”

“Aww,” cooed Zayn.

“What about you, Zayn?” asked Niall.

Zayn’s eyes widened as though he hadn’t realised he’d be part of this whole cuddling thing. “Me?”

“Yeah!” said Niall eagerly. He studied Zayn for a few moments before adding kindly, “Only if you want.”

“I’ll just- Maybe I’ll just lie with you,” he said tentatively. “If that’s okay.”

“‘Course it’s okay,” Niall assured him, smile soft. Beside him, Harry nodded, the loose waves and curls of his newly-short hair flopping around his head.

“Thanks,” said Zayn quietly.

“Right-o,” said Niall, prodding Harry’s side. “Lie down, sugar cube.”

Harry startled alert and did as he’d been told, moving to lie on his side on the bed. Niall settled behind him, pressing his front flush to Harry’s muscled back and wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. Harry smiled, dimples deep, and his eyes closed in content.

“Aw, Haz,” said Zayn, looking down at the curly-haired lad. He smiled and reached out to scritch the ticklish skin behind Harry’s ear. “Like a little kitten.”

Harry blinked up at Zayn slowly. “Lie down, Zayn,” he said sweetly, sounding drowsy already.

“Yeah.”

“Cover us up, please, Zayn?” asked Niall, head poking up from behind Harry’s back. “And get cozy, yeah!”

Zayn reached out and grabbed the duvet, dragging the blanket up over their bodies, and moved around to fit himself into the empty section of bed to the right of Harry, head inches from Harry’s on the pillow.

“Good night, Zayn,” whispered Harry, lips turned up in a sleepy grin.

“Good night, Harry,” said Zayn. “Good night, Ni.”

“Night, Zaynie!” said Niall. He pressed a kiss between Harry’s shoulder blades. “G’night, sugar cube.”

Harry hummed softly, comfortable and relaxed, ensconced in his bed with Zayn and Niall. Maybe he would be able to get a good night’s sleep, he thought as he drifted off.

When he woke up, the sun was starting to bathe the room in a golden glow, filtering through the lace curtains and illuminating the three boys on the bed. Harry was still wrapped up in Niall’s arms, Niall’s nose pressed into the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. It seemed Zayn had snuggled closer to Harry during the night; he’d tucked his face into the hollow of Harry’s neck and collarbone and was breathing gently against Harry’s exposed flesh.

“Zayn,” whispered Harry, turning his head slightly so his lips brushed against the shell of Zayn’s ear. “Zayn, wake up!”

 

An hour later, the three lads walked into the tent. It was amazing how much space there seemed to be now that there were only three of them.

“Harry!” came Sue’s voice from the tent’s front entrance. “Or should I call you Hairless now?” she asked. Mel walked in after her, wincing at the terrible pun.

“I thought only Harry was capable of puns that awful,” said Zayn, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Hey!” pouted Harry, turning to look at his friend. Niall laughed.

“Well, lads, it’s good to see you all back here!” said Mel. “You ready for the finals?”

“All right,” said the director, a man called Andy, interrupting the lads before they could answer Mel’s question. “Mary and Paul are on their way down now so if you two”—he turned to Mel and Sue—“could get to the front of the tent and you lot”—he looked at the three boys—“could get to your stations, we’ll do a few quick run-throughs of the challenge announcement before they arrive.”

Finally, after nearly forty-five minutes, the challenge announcement segment was successfully filmed and Niall, Harry, and Zayn had begun on their signature bakes.

Harry weighed out the ingredients for his lemon-lavender sponge cake; he’d practiced everything by weight and didn’t want any changes from his final results at home. He measured cake flour, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl and whisked them together. Next came the eggs, lemon juice, and lavender extract, stirred together in a measuring pitcher. Finally, he weighed his butter and sugar into the bowl of his stand mixer and began to beat them together.

“Harry, dear, you do look as though you’ve got a proper night’s sleep,” said Mary as she and Paul walked toward his station.

“Yes, thank you,” agreed Harry shyly.

“Now, Harry, what have you got for us today?” asked Paul, brusque in that way that only Paul Hollywood could manage without seeming overly cold and detached.

“Oh,” said Harry, as though he’d just realised he would have to explain his cake to the judges, “I’m making- It’s very simple, really.” He blushed because this was the finals and, really, he realised now, _simple_ maybe wasn’t the best way to go. “Um, it’s a lemon-lavender sponge with a quick strawberry jam I’m making and, well, and a layer of lavender cream.”

“That is quite simple,” said Paul, giving Harry an appraising look.

“It’s meant to be a cake we might make for our family and friends,” said Harry as quickly as he could, rushing to explain himself. “And this is the cake I make for Olivia’s birthday every year.”

“I’m sure it will be lovely, Harry.” Mary gave him a kind smile.

“I see you’re using the creaming method for your sponge,” added Paul. “Interesting.”

Harry swallowed. “Is it?”

“Good luck, Harry,” said Mary as she and Paul moved from his station.

Harry took a deep breath and turned, wide-eyed, to Niall at his station behind him. “Is it too simple?” he asked, voice nervous and hushed. “It’s really a lovely cake.”

“I’m sure it will be wonderful, Harry,” said Niall soothingly. “Your bakes always are.”

“And why’s it interesting that I’m using the creaming method for my sponge? Paul said that’s interesting.”

“He’s just got to say something like that,” shrugged Niall. “Wouldn’t be a Paul-and-Mary drop-by if he didn’t.”

“Y-yeah,” agreed Harry. “I suppose.”

“I’ll make you a cup of tea once I’ve had my go-round with Paul and Mary,” Niall told him with a smile.

“Thanks- thanks, Niall.” Harry turned back to his station.

“Anything for you, sugar cube!”

Zayn appeared at Harry’s station a moment later. “Paul says he’ll be curious to see how my ginger cake pairs with the fig-cardamom jam.” He sighed.

“He thinks it’s interesting that I used the creaming method for my sponge,” Harry sympathised. “And he thinks my cake’s too simple.”

“He didn’t say it’s too simple,” said Niall gently. “He just agreed that it is simple. Now- Oh!” He looked up as Mary and Paul arrived in front of his station. “Hi, Mary! Hi, Paul!” he said cheerfully and Zayn and Harry turned back to their own work areas.

“What are you up to, Niall?” came Paul’s voice from behind Harry.

“I’m working on me bittersweet chocolate whiskey cake,” Niall told the judges. “And then I’ll make the Guinness caramel for the filling. And it’s a chocolate buttercream for the top and sides but I’ll add a cheeky bit of the caramel to the buttercream to cut down the sweetness of the icing.”

“You don’t worry that adding caramel will make it _too_ sweet?” asked Paul curiously.

“No, the hint of bitter from the Guinness cuts down the sweetness a bit and mellows it out,” explained Niall.

“Very good. We’ll see in a bit, then,” said Paul.

Paul and Mary walked out of the tent and Niall groaned. “You _will_ see,” he muttered to himself before walking to the commissary to make a pot of tea.

 

At just past one o’clock, Paul and Mary reentered the tent with Mel.

“Shall we start with Zayn?” suggested Paul and Mary followed him to the raven-haired lad’s station.

“I quite like the colour of the icing,” said Mary, looking at the honeyed sugar glaze. “It’s very appealing.”

Zayn watched carefully as Paul cut into the cake. “Cut like butter,” he said, “and a beautiful crumb.”

“Nicely baked,” agreed Mary. “And a lovely near-orange colour. That was the ginger, I suppose?” she asked, looking at Zayn.

Zayn nodded.

“And, I have to say, that fig-cardamom jam does go very well with the ginger cake,” admitted Paul. “I wasn’t familiar with that pairing but it’s worked brilliantly. I think you’ve got your flavours down.”

“Thank you,” said Zayn, letting out a deep breath.

“Well done.”

“Now to Harry?” said Mary. Paul nodded and they crossed to Harry’s station.

“It really does look very simple,” stated Paul.

“But it’s lovely,” said Mary, giving Harry a reassuring smile. “It truly looks like it belongs in a baking book.”

Paul sliced a piece of the cake. “It has got a perfect bake. A nice even golden round the base and a moist crumb, not too crumbly.”

“Shall we have a taste?” asked Mary.

“Oh, let’s do,” begged Mel.

“I was a bit concerned with the lavender because it’s quite easy to overdo it but I think you’ve got just the perfect amount. It stands up to the lemon but isn’t overpowering or soapy,” commented Paul.

“And I quite like the lavender in the cream as well,” agreed Mary. “Very subtle but it works oh so nicely with the strawberries.”

Harry blushed and looked down. “Thank you, Mary. Thank you, Paul.”

Mary squeezed Harry’s hand gently and then left to join Paul at Niall’s cake.

“It certainly looks very rich,” commented Paul. “I hope it’s not too dense.”

Niall’s eyes widened slightly.

“A smooth, silky buttercream,” Paul announced as he cut into the cake. “And the cake looks airy and light.”

“Now I’m interested in this buttercream,” Mary told Paul and Niall. “I’m eager to taste it with the Guinness caramel.”

“So am I,” muttered Mel and Niall smiled.

The two judges and Mel took bites of the cake. “I do agree that the Guinness toned down the sweetness of the caramel considerably,” said Paul. “Interesting.”

“And it’s added a nice smoothness to the overall cake,” added Mary. “It really ties everything together very neatly.”

“Never doubt an Irishman with his Guinness,” teased Mel.

“Or whiskey,” said Niall.

“Or whiskey,” agreed Mel.

 

Harry looked at Niall when he sat down next to him, a sandwich and packet of crisps in his hands.

“That went well,” said Niall, turning to Harry and giving him a smile. “Knew you didn’t need to worry at all!”

Harry blushed a pretty pink that matched the splotches of strawberry juice on his apron. “Thanks, Ni.”

“Reckon Paul was just trying to give us all a scare earlier,” said Zayn as he dropped down into a seat on Harry’s other side. “With my flavours and your creaming and Niall’s Guinness and that.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, taking a bite of his own sandwich. “It worked too. Got proper nervous my cake would be too simple.”

“You heard Mary,” said Niall happily. “Looks like it belongs in a baking book.” He looked at what remained of Harry’s cake on the cake stand in the center of the lunch table. “Guess I’d better have a taste, see what all the fuss is about.” He stood to move around the table to the cake. “Want a piece, Zayn?”

“Please, yeah.”

Niall cut two pieces of Harry’s cake. “What do you think the technical challenge will be?” he wondered.

“I don’t know,” said Harry, sounding nervous. “I’ve researched every kind of layer cake I could think of and everything that could be considered a layer cake and I just don’t know.”

“Wouldn’t be something like a Dobos or Opera,” mused Zayn. “They’d expect us to know those.”

Niall sat down, sliding a plate with a slice of cake toward Zayn and digging into his own piece. “Would they? Maybe we’ve researched more than they expect.”

“It’ll be something named for some Romanian duchess or something,” Harry said, only half joking.

Zayn and Niall nodded because that sounded right.

 

Back in the tent, Mel and Sue shooed Mary and Paul out before explaining their final technical challenge.

“Your final technical challenge is an Esterházy torta. Named for the Prince Paul III Anton Esterházy de Galántha, it’s a Hungarian cake invented by Budapest confectioners in the late 19th century and consists of five layers of almond meringue filled with a cognac buttercream, iced with a fondant glaze, and decorated with a characteristic chocolate striped pattern,” Sue told them. “You have four hours to complete this challenge. On your marks.”

“Get set,” said Mel.

“Bake!”

The three lads removed the cloths that covered their ingredients and the recipes for their Esterházy torta. Harry picked up the papers and began to read the recipe through thoroughly.

“Ya weren’t too far off, were ya, Haz?” said Niall from behind Harry. “Romanian duchess, Hungarian prince.”

“Still a pain in the arse,” added Zayn. “You ever heard of this before?”

“I saw it once,” Harry answered. “Some American pastry blogger made it and wrote about it. But I didn’t read it all the way through because Olivia had a nightmare and woke up crying and climbed into my bed and I had to go put her back to sleep.”

Niall rolled his eyes and caught Zayn’s eye over Harry’s shoulder. They felt that the family Harry nannied for took advantage of his kindness and good heart and they’d both agreed weeks earlier that they wanted to convince Harry to move to London; he’d mentioned numerous times that he’d love to try to get a job at Black Treacle, one of London’s most popular bakeries, but they knew his fondness for the Harney’s young daughter Olivia kept him in Cheshire.

“So they’re like giant macaroons,” said Niall a bit later as he piped the batter into the circles he’d drawn on parchment paper.

“How do we know when they’re baked?” wondered Zayn, sliding his trays into his oven and standing up. “We spread them with the little spatula so, like, will they develop a foot?”

Harry knelt down in front of his oven and watched the layers bake up. “The recipe says ‘until lightly golden’ so they’ll probably still be chewy.”

“They shouldn’t take long to cool.” Niall ducked down to look in his own oven. “Not much to them, is there.”

“I’m pulling mine,” said Harry after a few minutes. “They’re golden and I don’t want them overbaked.” He reached for his towels and opened his oven door, taking the trays from the oven and setting them on the cooling racks.

Zayn and Niall followed his lead, pulling their cakes at just lightly golden.

“Oh no!” exclaimed Harry. “They’ve fallen!” Zayn and Niall rushed to Harry’s station; indeed, his layers had deflated slightly as they’d begun to cool. “I was so careful with my egg whites too!”

“Do you want to try again?” asked Zayn gently.

“No! Look!” said Niall. “Mine’ve fallen too! Do you think they’re supposed to?”

“Why would you bother to whip your egg whites so carefully and gently fold in the almond powder if they’re _supposed_ to”—Zayn paused—“Mine have fallen too.”

“Well, at least they’ve all fallen together,” said Niall with a smile.

“Forty-five minutes left, bakers!” called Mel from the front of the tent awhile later.

“Ohh, I don’t know if this fondant icing is the right consistency!” muttered Harry. “Should I try it on the back of a plate?”

“Have you got enough?”

“My almonds just don’t want to stick all the way round,” said Niall, sounding a bit frustrated. “It’s like the buttercream’s too thin a coating to hold them on the sides.”

“Ten minutes!” announced Sue.

“All right, lads,” said Mel. “You know the drill. Bring your bake to the gingham altar and place it behind the picture of yourself.”

With shaking hands, the three boys carried their cakes to the table and put them by their pictures.

Ten minutes later, Paul and Mary walked in and approached the table.

“They all look nearly identical, don’t they, Mary?” asked Paul.

“That’s good because they really do look just how they’re supposed to,” Mary told Paul. On the stools, Harry and Niall and Zayn let out relieved breaths.

“I guess it will be down to the bakes then,” said Paul with a tilt of his head.

They moved to the first—Harry’s—and cut into the torte.

“It’s really got a perfect proportion of buttercream to meringue,” said Mary, looking at the slice of cake on their plate. “And the meringues are baked to just the right colour.”

“A nice bake,” agreed Paul.

“Overall, a fine first attempt at an Esterházy torta.”

“Now this one,” said Paul, moving to Niall’s and cutting a small slice. “An equally nice bake.”

“Yes. Just the right chewiness in the meringues,” Mary said. “And a good buttercream. Perfect amount of cognac.”

“Maybe a little too thin of a coat around the edges, though,” Paul mentioned, pointing to a small section where the sliced almonds hadn’t adhered completely. “But a nice bake and good presentation.”

“And finally,” said Mary, taking a bite of Zayn’s Esterházy torta. “Excellent bake. The almonds were ground to just the right texture.”

“The fondant was perhaps poured on while it was a touch too warm,” Paul stated. “You can see it spread slightly and the chocolate design has stretched.”

“But all three are nearly technically perfect.”

“Yes, it’s very close,” nodded Paul.

“The closest bake I think we’ve ever had.”

Several minutes later, Mary stepped in front of the photo of Zayn. “A very difficult decision, but who is this?” Zayn raised his hand. “Third. If you’d let that fondant icing cool for just a couple more minutes, it would have been perfect.”

Paul stepped in front of Niall’s. “Second?” Niall raised his hand. “Just those almonds on that one bit, mate. Otherwise, spot on.”

“And first,” said Mary, beaming at Harry. “An excellent torte, my dear.”

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and turned to look at Zayn and Niall. The two lads smiled at him, huge grins lighting up their faces.

“Well done, Haz,” said Zayn, standing to give Harry a hug.

Niall reached out to high-five Harry with both hands, fingers intertwining, before pulling him in for a hug, face tucking into Harry’s neck. “Nice job, sugar cube.”

 

Harry, Niall, and Zayn returned to their cottage.

“I just want to sit for a week,” said Zayn, dropping down into one of the armchairs.

“I’m hungry,” announced Harry from his own armchair.

“I think they’ve arranged for the catering to come down soon,” said Niall, perching himself on the arm of Harry’s chair. “Which is good because I don’t fancy cooking tonight and I don’t feel much like driving to town for dinner.”

“No,” agreed Harry, turning to rest his head on Niall’s thigh.

“You did well today, pet,” said Niall softly, reaching down to tuck a few stray curls behind Harry’s ear and scratch at the skin.  

“So did both of you,” said Harry. “I don’t even care if I win anymore. I just want us all to do well.”

Zayn nodded. “Yeah. I’d just like us all to finish strong.”

There was a knock at the cottage door and Niall stood to open it, finding two of the catering crew outside with a lasagna, garlic knots, and a large salad.

“Brilliant!” said Niall. “Dinner!” He stood aside to let the caterers into the cottage and followed them to the small kitchen.

“Pop the lasagna in the oven for about ten minutes and you’ll be all set, mate,” one of the caterers told Niall.

“Thanks. Appreciate it, mate.”

“Have a good night,” the other caterer said. “And good luck tomorrow!”

Niall turned the oven on and stuck the lasagna pan in. “Right, lads,” he said, walking back into the little living room. “I’m just heating that lasagna up and then it’ll be time to eat.”

“Good! I’m starved!” exclaimed Harry.

“And then maybe we can have another cuddle if you’d like,” suggested Niall, almost bashful. “Get all cozy.”

“I’d- Yeah, I’d like that,” said Harry, blushing. “I haven’t slept as well as I did last night in- I don’t know how long.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have a little girl climbing into your bed, crying all over your pillow,” said Zayn with a smile.

“She doesn’t always,” Harry told Zayn, sounding mildly affronted. “Sometimes she goes to her parents.” Niall rolled his eyes and Zayn raised his eyebrows slightly. “But that’s not why I slept so well anyway.”

“Why do you reckon you slept so well then?” asked Niall curiously, voice soft.

“It was so nice and warm and comfortable,” said Harry. “And it’s a lot less lonely to fall asleep next to you lads than it is to fall asleep, you know, alone.”

 

“I could get used to this,” said Niall a few hours later as the three lads settled down into Harry’s bed, resuming the same positions as the night before.

“Mmmm,” hummed Harry in agreement, snuggling back into Niall’s arms. “Skweezy.”

Niall chuckled against Harry’s ear. “Skweezy?”

“Mmhm,” confirmed Harry with a nod of his head against the crisp pillowcase. “Skweezy’s when you’re, like, the perfect level of cozy and comfortable and snug.”

“Skweezy indeed,” said Zayn, nuzzling his face into Harry’s collarbone.

Niall smiled into Harry’s hair. “Is that an Olivia expression?”

“No,” Harry answered, unabashed. “It’s a me expression.”

“God, you’re adorable!” sighed Niall.

 

Harry didn’t remember falling asleep but when he turned his head on the pillow, the very early light of first dawn was shimmering through the tufts of Zayn’s hair and colouring the white sheets a pinkish rose-gold.

It took several minutes before he was able to sneak out of the bed without waking Niall and Zayn. He decided to make tea before he woke the other boys and headed down to the little kitchen.

Harry turned on the kettle and then set about filling the teapot with tea leaves and finding three cups and saucers and a little creamer for milk and the sugar bowl. The tea set was a pretty chintz pattern and it reminded him very much of a Gucci suit he’d wanted to buy that spring but hadn’t been able to afford on his nanny salary.

Tea finally made and set out on a breakfast tray he’d found tucked in the kitchen pantry, Harry made his way back upstairs to his room.

“Lads!” he called quietly to the two boys curled up in the bed. “Lads! Wake up! I’ve made tea.”

Ten minutes later, the three boys sat side-by-side drinking their tea.

“Ya ready for this to end?” asked Niall. “It’ll be kind of sad, next weekend. Not coming back.”

“I can’t wait to sleep past sunrise next Saturday,” laughed Zayn. “But yeah, it’ll be weird.”

“What about you, sugar cube?” Niall looked over to Harry. “Will you miss it?”

Harry blinked. “Of course,’ he said, shrugging. “I’ve not got many friends back home. Just Olivia and my sister, really.”

“That can’t be true,” said Niall. “Mr. Harry Styles, charming and sweet and handsome, has no friends?”

Harry blushed. “I’m a bit strange, you know,” he told Zayn and Niall as though he thought it was something they really didn’t know. “Most people find it off-putting.”

“Well, I find it charming,” Niall told him with a smile.

“It’s refreshing,” said Zayn, giving Harry an encouraging smile.

Harry’s blush deepened and he looked down to his teacup. “Thanks,” he mumbled quietly.

“Ya know, Haz,” said Niall, trying to sound casual, “Zayn is moving to London next month.”

“Are you?” asked Harry, turning to look at Zayn with wide eyes. “That’s so exciting!”

“Yup,” said Zayn with a nod. “Got a job at Claremont High School in Brent. They were looking for a new art teacher and I thought I’d apply.”

“Congratulations, Zayn!” said Harry, carefully placing his teacup on the breakfast tray and reaching out to wrap his long arms around Zayn in a hug. “Have you got a flat and everything?” he asked when he leant back.

“Got a flatmate,” Zayn told him. “I think you might know him. Devilishly handsome. Voice like an angel. A brilliant baker.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “You two are going to be _flatmates_?” he said, sounding impossibly excited.

Zayn and Niall nodded.

“You could always come join the fun,” said Niall innocently. “We make a nice little trio, I think.”

Harry’s face fell. “Oh, I can’t move to London. I’ve got—”

“Olivia,” sighed Niall. “Yeah, we know.”

“I can’t just leave her.”

“Yeah, just”—Niall sighed again—“if you ever want to move to London, the offer stands.”

Harry closed his eyes and said quietly, “Thank you.”

 

An hour and a half later, the three lads stood in the tent with Mel and Sue. They’d just finished filming the Showstopper Challenge announcement segment and had been given their final “On your marks, get set, bake!”

They had five and a half hours to make a three-tiered cake. They had to somehow incorporate the flavours of their favourite hot beverages into the cakes, fillings, and frostings. Additionally, Paul and Mary were expecting sugar decorations—spun sugar, gumpaste, fondant—and chocolate work.

Harry took a taste of his Mexican hot chocolate cake batter. He’d used a bit more cayenne when he’d practiced at home but he knew Mary didn’t like too much spice.

“Should I use more cayenne or will Mary hate it if I do?” he wondered aloud.

“Oh, sod Mary,” said Sue, smiling at Harry from where she stood at the end of Harry’s station. “I say go for it! It’s your Showstopper! Go big or go home.”

“Literally,” chimed in Mel.

Harry nodded and added a quarter teaspoon of cayenne to the batter, using his silicon spatula to fold it in. He tasted it again. “That’s better,” he said.

“There’s a good lad,” grinned Sue.

At the station behind Harry, Niall spread his cake batter into his cake pans. “Can we use the other ovens?” he asked the tent. “Or can we only use our own?”

“I don’t see why you can’t use the other ovens,” said Mel. “Just means more ovens to watch.”

“Better than having undercooked cakes,” said Niall, tipping his head toward the woman.

“Too true.”

“You’ve already got your first two cakes out,” said Sue as she walked to Zayn’s station a bit later. “Have you got your fillings ready?”

“Not yet,” said Zayn. “The layers have got to cool before I can fill them anyway so I’m going to start my garnishes while the cakes all finish and then I can make the fillings and icings while they chill up a bit in the freezer.”

“Now, you’ve got an advantage over these two,” said Sue, voice dropping conspiratorially.

“Have I?” asked Zayn, looking up from the ball of gumpaste he was tinting a pastel green.

“Of course,” whispered Sue. “You’re an _art teacher_. This is just like sculpting with modelling clay!” She pointed at the bit of paste in Zayn’s hands.

Zayn shrugged.

“Ugh!” exclaimed Niall from his station.

“Are you all right?” came four voices at the same time.

“Yes,” said Niall. “Yuck.” He took a sip from a bottle of water. “I took a drink off my bergamot essence syrup instead of my tea.”

Harry knelt down to look in his oven. He was pleased to see that his smallest cakes for the top tier were springing up nicely. “Almost done,” he muttered to himself before standing up and beginning to unwrap a giant square of snow white fondant.

“And you made this fondant yourself?” asked Mel, poking at the white clay-like material.

“Yes,” said Harry as he dusted his counter with icing sugar. “I made tons of marshmallows and then cut them up into tiny little cubes and melted them with water.”

“Isn’t that all sloshy?” Mel asked, poking the marshmallow fondant again.

“Well, then you add a load of icing sugar and knead it through like bread dough,” explained Harry.

“That’s so clever, Harry!” said Niall from behind Harry and Mel.

“Not really,” said Harry shyly, turning to look at the boy. “I mean, lots of people make marshmallow fondant.”

“No. You’ve made marshmallow fondant to go on your hot chocolate cake!”

 

“An hour and a half left, bakers!” announced Sue a while later.

Harry looked up. His cakes were filled and coated with buttercream. His little chocolate birds and eggs were in the refrigerator setting up. He needed to roll his fondant over the cakes and trim it; that would only take about a half hour, which would leave him with plenty of time to stack his tiers, make his spun sugar bird’s nest, and finish decorating the cakes.

First tier covered with a smooth layer of fondant and placed on his cake plate, Zayn helped Harry position the second tier on top.

“I’ve got the top one, thanks,” said Harry to Zayn.

Zayn turned back to his station, plans to paint his gumpaste butterflies in his thoughts.

“Oh _no_!” cried Harry’s voice.

“Oh no, oh no, calm down, Harry!” said Niall. “Calm down, sugar cube.”

Zayn turned to Harry and Niall and saw, to his horror, Harry’s top tier smashed on the floor at his feet. He looked up to Harry’s face and his heart broke.

“It’s okay, Haz,” he said, rushing forward to join Niall at Harry’s station. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” cried Harry. “I’ve lost two tiers!” He pointed at the second layer that Zayn had helped him place; he’d clearly dropped the top tier and had smashed the second layer with the cake. “It’s meant to be three tiers and I’ve smashed my top two!”

“Do you think we can lift that second tier off the bottom cake?” Niall asked Zayn.

“Reckon so, yeah,” said Zayn, catching onto what Niall meant.

“I’ve still not stacked mine so my middle tier can go on next—”

“And my top tier can go on last,” finished Zayn.

“No.” Harry looked up, confused. “What?”

“Have you got any more fondant, Harry?” asked Niall.

“Y-yes,” said Harry, still confused.

“Why don’t you cover my middle tier and Zayn’s top tier with fondant while we get these layers off the bottom tier?” suggested Niall. “Roll them both over, yeah, nice and smooth and they’ll all match!”

Harry looked between Niall and Zayn for a few moments before he finally said, “You aren’t going to finish your cakes?”

“‘Course we are,” said Niall. “We’re going to finish strong together.” He gave Harry a smile. “Now get to rolling! We’ve only got—”

“One hour left, bakers!” called Mel from the tent’s entrance. “Oh no!” she exclaimed when she saw the mess in front of Harry’s station. “Harry, my love,” she said, walking quickly toward the boy with Sue following just behind her.

“It’s all right,” said Zayn, cutting in between the ladies and a nervous Harry. “We’re going to put them all together. Harry’s covering one of my cakes and one of Niall’s cakes with fondant.”

“Do ya think you could be a dear and take this spatula”—Niall handed Mel a large metal spatula—“and just slip it under that edge there? Just going to lift this cake up and put it aside for now, yeah.” Mel took the spatula and helped Niall and Zayn lift the smashed cake off the bottom tier.

“Harry, love, do you want me to help you smooth?” asked Sue from where she watched Harry rolling fondant at Zayn’s station. “I may be a terrible baker but I think I can smooth fondant.”

“Please,” said Harry, moving to show her how to smooth the fondant around the edges of Zayn’s cake before turning to roll out a disc to cover Niall’s middle tier.

Twenty minutes later, all three tiers were successfully draped in fondant. Mel and Sue stood watching nervously as Zayn and Niall lifted Niall’s middle layer and placed it on top of Harry’s bottom layer and then carefully positioned Zayn’s smallest cake on top of the other two cakes.

They collectively exhaled as Zayn and Niall removed the spatulas and stepped back from the cake.

“And now it’s just the decorations!” said Niall cheerily.

Sue watched as Harry made a quick caramel and, with the tongs of a fork, made strings of sugar over a rolling pin before collecting them up in his hands and forming them into a nest. Meanwhile, Zayn finished painting his butterflies and Niall formed his last chocolate flower.

The three lads carefully arranged Harry’s chocolate birds around his sugar nest on the top tier, nestling his little chocolate eggs in the spun sugar. Zayn’s beautiful gumpaste butterflies and chocolate bumblebees decorated the middle tier and Niall’s sugar branches and gumpaste and chocolate flowers circled the bottom tier.

“I”m sorry,” said Mel in a stage whisper. “I’ve got to do it for the camera.” She took a step back and called out to the tent, “Bakers, put down your sugar and wipe off that chocolate! Your time is up!”

 

Paul and Mary entered the tent.

“Niall,” said Mary, looking at the Irish lad, “shall we start with yours?”

“I think first,” said Sue, “we should mention that there was a bit of an accident.”

Paul and Mary looked from Niall to the presenters.

“An accident?” asked Paul, voice that nerve-inducing tone that made chills run down Harry’s spine.

“Ever so small,” added Mel.

Niall carried the cake forward. “Harry’s top tier slipped off his spatula just as he was placing it on top of his cake and it- it smashed all over the ground and made a proper mess of the second tier too.”

Paul looked from Niall to Harry, giving his best unimpressed-yet-slightly-amused Paul Hollywood expression. Mary looked at Harry sympathetically.

“So we put all of our cakes together to make one three-tier cake,” explained Zayn.

“Well, I am very glad you didn’t bin it, Harry,” Mary told him with a small smile. “Now Harry, why don’t you tell us about your layer? That’s the bottom one, if I understand correctly?”

“Um, yes,” said Harry nervously, walking forward. “It’s, um, it’s a Mexican hot chocolate cake with a chocolate ganache and a light buttercream.”

“And a beautiful fondant,” added Mary. “Did you make that fondant?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I made three batches of marshmallow and then made a quick marshmallow fondant with them.”

“I quite like that,” said Paul. “It’s clever, the marshmallows with hot chocolate. And that ganache has a different feel on the palate. It’s very smooth and almost creamy.”

“It’s evaporated milk.”

“It works.”

“And the cake is just lovely. Perfectly balanced with the nutmeg and cinnamon and cayenne,” Mary told him.

“There’s a hint of cinnamon in the buttercream, unless I’m mistaken,” said Paul.

“Overall, your flavours are very nice. Spot on.” Mary smiled at him. “Which decorations were yours, Harry? You didn’t lose those, did you?”

“Oh, no. I did”—Harry took a wobbly breath—“I did the bird’s nest with the little eggs and the chocolate birds.”

“They are just very dear,” Mary told Harry.

“Thank you!”

“Right. Who was the middle tier?” asked Paul.

Niall raised his hand and stepped forward.

“And can you tell us about your cake?”

“Yes. It’s an Earl Grey cake with a layer of bergamot marmalade and a white chocolate-Earl Grey ganache.”

Mary and Paul both took bites of the cake. “I think that cake is just heavenly,” Mary told Niall after a moment. “Earl Grey has always been my favourite tea and sometimes that flavour is hard to capture in doughs and batters but I think you’ve really got it just right.”

“I really like that you’ve included a layer of bergamot marmalade,” added Paul. “It’s not common to see bergamot used like that but it’s only fitting in this cake since bergamot is the main flavouring of Earl Grey tea.”

“And you made that marmalade, didn’t you?” interjected Mel.

“Yes.”

“Your decorations were which ones?” asked Mary.

“The, um”—he pointed at the sugar branches and gumpaste and chocolate flowers—“just there.”

“Very pretty, those flowers,” Mary told him. “And those branches just add a bit of height. Nicely done, Niall.”

“Thank you,” said Niall, turning toward Harry and Zayn and giving them the thumbs-up.

“And Zayn,” said Paul. “You’ll be the top tier. What is it?”

“It’s a chai spiced cake with cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, and peppercorns. The filling is a honey and apricot custard and it’s a white chocolate-black tea glaze.”

“I think your flavours are always spot on and today is no exception,” Mary said with a smile.

“I’ve never had a honey and apricot custard but I quite like it,” Paul added.

“And you’re butterflies and bumblebees are just positively charming.”

“Thank you.”

 

Harry, Niall, and Zayn walked outside the tent and were greeted by friends and family and several of their previous fellow _Bake Off_ contestants.  

“Harry!” came a happy little voice and Harry bent down to scoop up a little girl who was running toward him.

“Lemon drop!” he exclaimed, hugging her into his arms and walking back to Zayn and Niall.

“So you’re Olivia,” said Niall, examining the little girl in Harry’s arms. “You’re pretty cute.”

“Thank you,” said Olivia, blushing and looking down at Harry’s chest. “Did you win, Hazzy?”

“They haven’t announced who won yet,” Harry told the child, “but they’re coming right now!”

Sure enough, Mel and Sue walked toward them, Paul and Mary following just behind.

“Harry. Niall. Zayn,” said Sue, giving each boy a smile. “As you know, we have to choose just one of you to name the winner of this year’s _Great British Bake Off_. It has never been a tougher decision and if we could name you all the winners, I think Paul and Mary might have.”

“We really really tried to get Paul and Mary to call it a draw,” added Mel.

“But they did make a final decision and the winner of this year’s _Great British Bake Off_ is,” Sue paused—Zayn and Niall clasped hands and Harry reached down to take Niall’s hand in his—“Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widened; Zayn and Niall had deserved that win. He would have failed that last bake without them, would have probably had a complete breakdown without them.

“Congratulations, Harry!”

“Well done, mate!”

“Knew it would be you, sugar cube!”

Olivia threw her arms around Harry’s neck and all but shouted in his ear, “Yay, Hazzy! You won!”

“But,” Harry looked around, stunned, “how?”

Harry was shuffled around, everyone congratulating him and giving him hugs and shaking his hand. Finally, he snuck away from the crowd to get a plate of food and a bit of fresh air, leaving Olivia with his sister Gemma.

“Ya all right, sugar cube?” came Niall’s voice from behind him as he stood at the buffet table loading his plate with sausage rolls.

“Yeah,” said Harry with a tiny sigh, turning to look at Niall. “Just. You and Zayn deserved to win. I dropped my cakes and I’d’ve—”

“Harry, you won fair and square,” said Niall kindly. “We all presented the same amount and Paul and Mary tasted everything each of us made.”

“But you only didn’t present three-tier cakes because of me—”

“And that’s fine, Haz,” Niall tried to assure him. “Remember what we said last night? We just wanted all of us to finish strong. Besides,” he added, “I’m certain you’d have done the same thing if it was the other way round.”

“Y-yeah,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Yeah. You’re right.”

 

Their friends and family had left, headed back to Bradford and London and Cheshire, but Harry and Niall and Zayn had been told they could spend one last night in the cottage at Welford Park if they wanted. Exhausted, they’d all decided to stay.

“So, Mr. Best Amateur Baker in Britain,” said Niall as they all lay cuddled together on the bed, “what are you going to do now?”

Harry laughed and Zayn grinned.

“Reckon I might try to get a job at a bakery,” admitted Harry. “Maybe- If the offer still stands, maybe I could stay at yours until I find my own flat in London?”

“O’ course it still stands,” said Niall, “but that wasn’t the offer.”

Harry rolled onto his back and turned his head to look at Niall, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean? What was the—”

“I meant you could come live with Zayn and me,” Niall told him.

“Like, another flatmate?”

“Something like that,” said Zayn.

“How many bedrooms have you got?” asked Harry.

“Just the one.”

“So where would we all”—Harry paused, understanding dawning on him—“Oh.”

“Yeah,” said Zayn, mild amusement clear in his voice. “We’ve already got the practice.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i don't ever post my zarriall drabbles and oneshots on ao3 but i thought this was better suited to ao3 than just tumblr given its length. i hope you've enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it!
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://littlemissmeggie.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


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